


Living Like Death

by killedby_writersblock



Category: Original Work
Genre: For Class, Short Story, i just need some feedback, just in the first chapter, minor gore, not fanfiction, the rest is clean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-07 20:57:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12849378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/killedby_writersblock/pseuds/killedby_writersblock
Summary: A man falls asleep and is gripped by a vivid episode of sleep paralysis. But is he actually dreaming?





	1. Chapter 1

          Sleep paralysis. The feeling of complete helplessness as you feel people, things, touching you. Sometimes even the feeling of a sharp knife being drawn down from your sternum to your gut. It’s dark. So dark, and I can’t move. It hurts. There are hands on my arms, moving them. But I can’t move them back. It’s cold. I want to shiver, but my muscles don’t seem to work anymore. This is terrifying. Are - are those hands? In my stomach? This isn’t right. I feels like my organs are being pushed around. Make it stop. Someone. Please. Help me. I feel myself being sewn together. And I can’t do anything. It starts on my stomach and moves up my chest in an almost Y shape. The pain is unbearable. But I can’t scream. I can’t even cry. I just have to lay there and do nothing. Did I die? Am I in hell? The pain is gone. I am being covered by something scratchy. I need to move. I need to scratch away the sensation of whatever just happened. Hang on, am I moving? No, I’m being moved. I’m laying on something rickety. Oh gosh. It’s even colder now. It’s freezing. I need to move. I need to warm up. Is somebody out there? Why can’t I yell for help?

  
          I eventually zoned out due to the cold. When I woke up, at least I think it was something like waking up, it was much warmer. I’m laying on something soft. It’s still dark. I still can’t move. I hear voices. I try to call out to them, cry for help, but nothing happens. It’s like my vocal chords have been cut off, along with the rest of my body. I have no control. I try to listen to what the voices are saying. Maybe that can help me figure out what’s going on. I’m pretty sure this is all just a terrible nightmare, but I want to know where I am. The voices are muffled. The words are almost indistinguishable. Occasionally, I pick up some things. But they’re confusing.

  
        There’s at least three different voices, one is probably a woman’s. She sounds sad. Are – are they talking about… caskets? No, I probably misheard them. Baskets. She needs a new basket for her autumn decorations. That’s it. Halloween is over, no more caskets. The two men start to talk. I think they’re talking about money. They’re negotiating for something that’s for sure. It’s made of wood, or metal the first man says, and must be very intricate. Apparently there’s gold inlays? Oh wow that’s expensive. Almost nine thousand dollars. This must be a pretty fancy basket…

  
         I try to hear more, but the people left the room. They probably agreed on a price or something. Back to silence. Silence and the annoying creak of what I assume is the heater. I’m going to go insane if I hear that for a while. I really need to move. My body is completely numb. I feel no sensation, but it’s strange. It’s like when your mouth is numb from the dentist and you know you won’t be able to feel anything, but you keep poking at the numb spot hoping to feel something. It’s a psychological pain. There is no pain, but it hurts to feel nothing. I’m not making any sense am I? Maybe I already am going insane.

  
         Time is passing, but what even is time if you have no way to gauge it? Has it been seconds? Hours? Days? I can’t sleep because this is all just a dream. Can’t sleep in dreams, even if you want to. But this isn’t like any dream I’ve ever had. I’ve had sleep paralysis before, but it’s never lasted this long. And time doesn’t usually drag on in dreams, right? I want to wake up. I’m scared. I’m trapped in the dark; it’s suffocating me. I need to open my eyes. I need to move. I need something to happen. Anything.

  
         Maybe I spoke too soon. I’m moving again, but I don’t know to where. I’m still on the soft thing, and it’s still dark. Is that voices? Birds? Am I outside? Why can’t I see light? I want to wake up. I hear a car engine start, and I think I’m being put in the car? The doors open, I’m getting jostled around, and I hear a car door slam. Everything is still for a second. Yea, I’m definitely in a car. We’re driving somewhere now. Maybe I can try and wake up by falling asleep in my dream. I’m going to try it.

 


	2. Chapter 2

        It hasn’t worked. I’m still asleep. The car is stopped, and I hear voices again. The doors are opening, and I’m being taken out again. Pretty sure I’m outside, I think I hear a fountain. More doors are opening, and now we’re definitely inside. I think this is some sort of huge building like a church or something. The voices are echoing a lot, like the walls are stone. There’s two people talking. The echo is making it hard to understand. I just want to know what’s going on. One person said something about an hour. It’ll happen in an hour. What’s “it”? Does it have something to do with why I can’t wake up?

        I’ve stopped moving. There’s light suddenly. Oh, blessed light. I want to open my eyes to look at you, but I can’t. It’s killing me. I have to move, even just a little bit! The voices fade away and I am left alone again. I guess I just have to wait an hour to figure out what’s going on. Oh wait, more people are coming in. They’re talking about flowers. Flower placement, what arrangements go where, wow these people are really dedicated. A lot of things are moving. Papers are shuffling, and oh there’s an organ here? I must be in a church. The organist is practicing. It sounds nice, happy but sad all at the same time. It’s almost hypnotising. I could get lost in it for hours.

         I’m pulled out of my trance by silence the organist stopped playing, maybe to switch music? Yes, they’re playing a different song now. I recognise it. It’s an old hymn that my grandfather loved. I think it’s called “How Great Thou Art”. It’s a nice song. I don’t know the words, but if I could I would hum along. More people are coming into the room. Are they… crying? Some are sniffing as if they’re trying not to cry, but some are outright sobbing. The sobbing one is coming closer. They’re right next to me. It’s a woman, she’s saying that things won’t be the same. It’s such a shame, too young. I wonder who she is talking about. I feel bad for her, she must’ve lost someone. Maybe her child? Well whoever it was, may they rest in peace.

         People seem to be following her. They’re saying some of the same things, and I think I hear some people quietly thanking them. I must be at some sort of funeral? I wonder whose it is. Poor person, they must’ve been truly loved to have this many people come to say goodbye. There’s so many of them. They must’ve been popular or really nice. Sometimes I hear a voice I swear I recognise, but then I remember that of course I recognise them. I’ve had to hear a voice before in order to hear it in my dream. My subconscious may be screwed up a lot, but not enough to just invent voices. Screwed up enough to invent a funeral though.

        Eventually there isn’t as many people. The funeral must be coming to a close. Yes, the people are leaving now. Someone is talking to the people I heard earlier, they must be the family. They asking if the family is ready to leave. Probably for the burial site. I hope it’s a good one, the poor person deserves it it seems. The family asks for a little time alone with the body. If I don’t wake up soon, I’ll feel really awkward. I don’t want to snoop on a family’s last moments with this person. The family has moved closer to me, and the mother, I think that is the mother, has started to cry again. She whispers words of love and sorrow with a cracking voice, and my heart almost breaks at her pain. The rest of the family has begun to cry as well, and if I could move, I’d be crying too. It’s not every day that you get to experience something like this. It’s kind of surreal honestly, and somewhat terrifying.


	3. Chapter 3

        The family moves on, finding no words left to say. All their tears have been dried for now, but there will surely be more. I am moving again, I think it’s back into the car. The panic begins again every time the car lurches. I cannot feel it, but I hear it. I hear my body smack into the sides of whatever is holding me. But I cannot feel it. It feels deeply wrong. Why can’t I wake up? What’s wrong with me? I mentally take a few deep breaths, due to the fact that I physically can’t take one. I think I’m getting somewhat used to it, the whole not being able to move, feel, or breathe, but it’s still taking a toll. I’m not really one to freak out when I’m awake, but when I’m asleep, I feel so vulnerable that I can’t help but to get scared and panic about everything. 

        The car stops again. I think I’m being taken out, and I’m definitely outside again. I can hear the wind softly rustling the branches of trees, the soft yellow light that I yearn with all my heart to see bathing the world. I fight the feeling of happiness that naturally creeps up on me when I am outside, trying to keep a level head so that I can wake up whenever the moment presents itself. I hear the wind rattling a plastic tarp-like material, and the clanking of metal as I come to a rest. I hate the sound of scraping metal, and it is currently surrounding me. It sounds like some lawn chairs are being set up, which would make sense if this is a burial site. It sounds like more cars are arriving, and voices gather volume as the people casually converse.

         Someone clears his throat, and the talking dies down. Chairs shuffle as it sounds like people sit. The pastor, or priest, thanks everyone for coming, and then starts his service. I’ve never been one for funerals or church services; they’ve always bores me. I find myself tuning in and out of his words, lost in my own thoughts. I think about how lucky I am to be alive, and how much I would hate to leave my family. I think about the simple things that I enjoy, such as the way the light reflects off the water of the lake behind my property. I think of my cat who always rubs against my face to wake me up on the mornings that I haven’t fed her fast enough. I think of my friends and how destroyed they would be if I died. I want to wake up. I can’t take this anymore, I need to feel alive again.

         Is this some sort of lesson? Maybe a punishment from God because I haven’t been to church in over five years? I’m sorry. I’ll do anything. Let me wake up.

         Did the pastor just say my name? It couldn’t have been. I’m hallucinating. This is a weird dream, so this must be simply it getting weirder. Dreams always do that before you wake up. But... it sounded like he said that I will be missed by all who knew me. No, it couldn’t have been. This is just me getting closer to waking up. That’s all. Nothing to be nervous about. I start to panic again as I get moved. I want to stop moving. I want to get up. I want to see the sun and the sky and the trees turning colours and the seasons changing and my friends accomplishing their goals and oh please I just want to live!


	4. Chapter 4

        I’m not moving anymore but somehow that doesn’t comfort me. Someone is digging, it sounds like above me. I hear dirt fall and hit whatever is imprisoning me. It was just an accident, right? I’m not being buried. I’m asleep in my bed. I can wake up whenever I want. I am fully in control here. Why am I not calming down. I’m so scared. More dirt falls, and the sound of the wind is being muffled. I want to hear it, I want to see the leaves that it’s moving. The birds are fading away as well. Their sweet songs that I will appreciate much more after I wake up. With every bit of dirt that falls, I grow more fearful. What if I never wake up.

        The voices are gone. The wind is gone. The birds are gone. The light is gone. The dirt no longer falls. Yet still, I am here. I have never been more scared, but I cannot move. I cannot feel my own heartbeat, but it should be pounding. My hands shouldn’t be dry, the should be sweating and trying to open this thing. It is definitely not a casket. I will never believe that. Why am I just laying here still? Why am I not awake?

        Time is passing, but it is also not. There is no way to tell. I am trapped by silence and earth. I am losing hope. I doubt now that I will ever wake up. I am past the point of fear. Past the point of wanting to cry out to God to end my misery. I know I deserve it. I should’ve lived better, done more for others, generally been a better person. Why am I talking like I’m dead? I’m not dead. I’m just asleep. Just need to wake up. Just need to hold onto some form of hope...

          Hope is fleeting fast. I don’t know how much longer I can hold onto it. The darkness is overwhelming, stifling me, scaring me. I want to cry out. I want to see again. I want to feel more than this cold, lonely emptiness beating into my very being. I want to wake up. Why can’t I wake up? Why can’t I end this terrible dream? Is this really what death feels like? No one warned me. The stories they told us were wrong. If this is what hell is, then it’s much worse than they thought. This is torture. I want it to end. I want to live again. I’m sorry. 

**Author's Note:**

> Hey there! I’m currently enrolled in a creative writing class, and I decided to post my writings here for feedback. This story is my 8-10 page short story assignment. Any feedback/critiques/comments are welcome as long as they are constructive!


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